


Bedside Manner

by Darwin_xf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e13 Agua Mala, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15266034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darwin_xf/pseuds/Darwin_xf
Summary: That fluffy, contrived post Agua Mala fic you didn’t ever know you were missing :)“Be professional Be professional Be professional Be professional Be professional...”I maybe might add an 8th chapter later but we’re done for now.





	1. Chapter 1

“Dammit to Hell!” Scully said as the El Camino sped away. Her boots stamped the dirt. “Stupid fuckers,” she muttered. The tires she had failed to shoot out had kicked grit and pebbles in her face in as the souped up car peeled out of the deserted campground lot. 

Things in the field got heated, and Scully was as prone to frustration as most, but Mulder was surprised by her outburst. They had only been tagging along on the case, and even when she was royally pissed, she was more likely to adopt a bedside manner of cool detachment. 

As the Tampa field officers who hadn’t drove off in hot pursuit cleared the area, Mulder ran over to check on her. She was staring at the ground muttering, her posture stiff, her service weapon tapping against her right thigh. She raised her gaze to glare at him, but didn’t holster her weapon. 

Livid Scully, he knew, was a product of having been coaxed from her comfortable bed on a Sunday by her hare-brained partner for yet another lead in yet another tucked away hamlet. This time in Florida — into the whorling claws of a hurricane no less — on something only remotely FBI related: A sea monster fathomed by a liver-spotted drunk coot. The Monster Mash. She knew every step. 

Except this time, before they’d been able to board a flight home, they were called in to work with a team of local agents on a case sixty some odd miles north and inland of Tampa. The middle of nowhere, Florida. 

It seemed a couple of locals had attempted to take advantage of the fact that law enforcement resources were spread thin due to the aftermath of the hurricane by robbing their local branch of Wells Fargo. 

Luckily, the two men proved to be unusually inept. Their faces and license plate number were a matter of record, their hands stained with ink from a dye pack. Before long they would bumble themselves into custody, no doubt. 

“Mulder, how did we get here again?” Scully asked, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Her face was flushed in the muggy heat, her eyes bright with what he could only assume was anger. He exhaled fractionally in relief as she holstered her gun, hoped she didn’t notice. 

“Where would that be, Scully?” Mulder asked politely.

“You tell me!” she yelled, stomping away toward the bath house.

Mulder’s mouth fell open and he stared gapingly behind her. 

Three or four Tampa field agents Mulder hadn’t realized were huddled nearby tittered. One winced and shook his head at Mulder. Another whistled softly. 

Scully, on the other hand, wheeled her oh-so-red head around and irradiated him with a look of fury that actually frightened him. Livid Scully had become apoplectic in no time flat. She kept walking away, quickly. Crap.

As he made their way to their rental car to await her pissed off return, he tried to figure out what had made her so very mad. She’d been grouchy as hell all day and the day before, irritable with his driving choices. And should he happen to attempt to lighten the mood by cracking a joke? Nope.

He was occasionally treated to this version of Scully for a few days at a time. After a few... cycles of this routine, he more or less figured out what was going on, though the exact provenance of the mood, on any given occasion, usually remained unconfirmed. While his sky high IQ most definitely did not provide any kind of measure of his social acumen, he wasn’t a total moron in the ways of women. 

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized it was bullshit. 

She slipped into the passenger seat briskly, buckled up, and they were headed to the motel to pack. Then to the Tampa-St. Pete airport, with any luck to catch the late flight home. 

He was glad they were no longer needed on this idiotic case. Maybe he could arrange a seat far, far from Scully for the trip to DC. 

He assumed she would rip into him as soon as they cleared earshot of the local field agents. But instead she tipped her seat back a few degrees and sat in silence as he drove. He could see that she’d regained her composure, splashed some water on her face and was braced in the bucket seat. Whatever had upset her so much, she didn’t want to discuss it. 

Finally, as they pulled into the motel lot, he broke the silence. 

“Scully,” he offered “I’m sorry to have offended you. I know you’re not thrilled that I dragged you out to some Godforsaken place yet again, this time into a hurricane no less. I understand that.”

She grunted a laugh and turned her head to look out the window. He was happy to be treated to a better view of the underside of her jaw and the strong cords of her neck. Her pulse ticked away, slow and steady, visible to his practiced eye beneath the soft skin at her sternal notch.

She stole his breath more and more these days. 

He had to stay on task, though, if he hoped to emerge from this current scrape at least alive. To improve his general standing with her would be an optimal result. 

“I’m trying to apologize here. What’s funny about that, Scully?” he asked with genuine curiosity. 

“Mulder. You’re apologizing about the wrong thing. God, If I became irate every time you cajoled me into joining you on some…some...zany caper, I’d… Well, I don’t know what I’d do. I wouldn’t be a very happy person.”

Huh? “Scully. Please. Explain it to me like I’m a fifth grader. What did I do to make you mad?” 

“Ok then,” she said, inhaling the still stifling evening air deeply through her nose and into her stomach, and closing her eyes for a fraction. It was technique he’d seen her employ in the past when gathering patience. He gave her many opportunities to practice.

“Mulder, I’m going to explain it to you like you’re an eighth grader instead. An eighth grader leaning against his locker talking with his friends as a girl walks by on her way to the library.”

“Did this girl have owlish glasses, curled bangs, freckles, and an armful of books?”

Scully sighed. “All right, I’ll play along. Are you thinking of me Mulder? How do you know what I looked like back then?” 

“I saw pictures in photo albums your mom brought to the hospital when you were sick.” 

He looked down as he confessed. She might think he was respectfully remembering her cancer. The truth was, he couldn’t put his eyes on her, remembering how later, after she was well, those waxy pages provided fodder for his prurient imagination. Scully through the years. Gulp.

“No this middle schooler isn’t me.” She said. “It’s hypothetical.” 

“OK,” he said, getting back with the program. “I’m listening, Captain.”

He had piloted the car into a parking space, and they remained sitting there talking for several minutes. He went to cut the engine, but realized how good the A/C felt. The sweat that had covered him all day was beginning to dry and flake. 

“Mulder, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. I’m really pissed.”

He felt pure of intention where Scully was concerned. “I know you are. I don’t mean to downplay it. But the thing is, Scully, I still don’t know why.” 

“Right.” she said. She still hadn’t looked at him. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we just forget it and get on a plane?” 

“Sounds good,” he said, smirking and cracking the seal of the door, exploding the mood quiet intimacy that had arisen between them. Now HE was pissed. He ripped the keys from the ignition and stalked off toward his room. He knew he should let it go if she wanted to, but damn he was tired of being put off by her. 

Back in his room he closed the door and stopped, listed stiffly against the jamb, felled by her. He rested his hand over his heart and smiled. The pain was sweet. 

A few minutes later after splashing water on his own face, he was genuinely shocked to realize he did want to know what he’d done to offend her. Maybe he wouldn’t change his seat after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Alas, the last flight to DC was cancelled, they discovered when Scully had called to check, the storm churning up the coast wreaking havoc with airline schedules. No more flights were scheduled between Tampa to anywhere east of Chicago until morning.

An undeclared truce in place, they were grabbing a late dinner at the diner next door to the motel. By candlelight it turned out, though it was far from romantic; electric power had been up and down since the hurricane. Each booth was lit by three tea lights in translucent glass holders.

With some food in her stomach, Scully’s mood had vastly improved; she was enjoying the vegetable soup and wishing she’d ordered a bowl instead of a cup with her salad. She figured that was safe, what with the refrigeration situation. Mulder picked at the last quarter of a turkey club — he didn’t like mayo fortunately — the first three of which he’d wolfed down.

Looking at him shifting in his seat and avoiding her eyes, she felt a little sorry for having come down so hard on him earlier. For her, the incident was long past.

“Glad this place stayed open,” Scully said. “We really are in the sticks here. I don’t think there’s another restaurant for miles.”

Mulder nodded. “Yeah, it’s State Forest and protected wetland for miles around. Not many businesses.”

A few minutes passed. Mulder looked uncomfortable and strange to her, lit only by the candle light from below. His face faraway, almost pained.

“Hey,” she said, reaching across the table and touching him briefly on the forearm. “I didn’t mean to take your head off earlier.”

“What?” he said, wincing as he brought his attention back to her. “Oh, that’s ok. I’m over it.”

“Me too,” Scully said, nodding.

“Though I wouldn’t mind knowing what had you so upset…”

Scully thought about whether she wanted to go into it with him.

“Fair enough,” she said, sighing. They had nothing but time. She inhaled and tried to choose her words carefully. “I was irritated, but not surprised, when those idiot field officers got to snickering when I missed trying to shoot out those tires then got mad about it.”

“OK,” he said, listening.

“If I had been a male agent, I doubt they would have reacted that way. It’s annoying, always having to prove yourself. I deal with shit like this when we wander very far from DC, Mulder. All women in the field will say the same thing. So it was annoying.”

“I get that, Scully. I’m not deaf, dumb, or blind to the kind of treatment you sometimes encounter because of your gender.”

“But when I saw you making fun of me and egging them on, I was hurt.” She was surprised and horrified to realize she was crying, swiping away tears before they spilled onto her cheeks.

“Hey. Scully,” Mulder said, jumping up to switch to her side of the booth, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Offa me,” she said, rolling her shoulder and sloughing off his hand, trying to regain her cool. The combination of her bone deep fatigue and hormones had her all churned up.

If pressed, she’d have to admit that Mulder’s connection to Diana Fowley had mucked up the usually clear waters of their partnership. She probably wouldn’t have been bothered by any of this before.

He folded his hands on the table. “I hadn’t realized till just now how that must have looked to you. I’m truly sorry.”

She shook her head and looked out the window into the nearly empty dark parking lot. In the window, he could see her lips lit by candlelight set firmly against any more tears.

“My only defense is that I wasn’t making fun of you. I mean, I reacted to your uncharacteristic display of temper. But you have to believe me Scully, I barely even registered those off-brand douches.”

“What do you mean, you weren’t making fun of me? What was that….. face?” She imitates his agog jaw-dropped look from earlier.

“It was just a face,” he offered weakly.

She gave him her most skeptical look.

“Scully, I was a little bit surprised you were so pissed. And, in all seriousness?” He paused, as if unsure if he wanted to give up the goods.

“What?” she said.

“You, ah, you looked kind of attractive to me at that moment. For some reason.”

“Ah ha.” She said. Her cheeks warmed a bit at his confession.

He’d embarassed her, but she looked much happier than she had a few minutes before.

“I wasn’t playing to an audience, though. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay Mulder. I’m glad we cleared things up,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Also, as an aside, I think those agents, immature as they were, were more laughing at me.”

She wanted to ask why, but wasn’t sure that was a safe line of questioning. “Like I said, I’m over it.”

“I have to, uh, go...” Mulder said suddenly, slipping out of the booth beside her. She wasn’t sure if he meant back to his room or what, but she saw him push into the men’s room.

She was looking forward to the best night's sleep the damp lumpy mattress in her motel room could offer. She signaled the waitress for a check. She brought it over. In the time it took for Scully to slap down some cash as well as request and receive a hand-written receipt, she was surprised to realize Mulder was still in the bathroom.

She hoped he hadn’t been snatched from the throne and dragged through the hoop into the sewers by the first cousin of the thing that had left creepy tentacle marks on his neck the day before. Maybe he wouldn’t even resist, as anxious as he’d be to get a glimpse of the sea-monster lair.

Just as she was rising to tap on the men’s room door to check on him, he appeared at the table again.

She was ready to go, but he sunk down into the other side of the booth as though they’d just arrived.

“We’re paid up here Mulder. What do you say we get out of here, go back to our dry rooms, get some sleep?”

He nodded vaguely. Her curiosity was morphing into concern. His eyes were fixed at a point in the middle distance as he stared just over the top of her head. He was moving around in the booth in an uncharacteristic way, squirming like a toddler in a church pew.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” he said. Then: “No. Look, Scully. I need to see a doctor.”


	3. Chapter 3

She eyed him carefully. “I know you are aware that I am a doctor, Mulder. Remember that baby we delivered yesterday?”

God, had that been only yesterday?

“No. I mean a different kind of doctor.”

“Okay. What kind of doctor?”

He sat staring at his hands. 

She didn’t want to pry or embarass him, so she took him at his word. 

“Alright,” she said. “We are probably an hour from the nearest ER. At least. Should I call 911? Are you ill?” 

“No. I don’t think it’s a paramedic type thing.”

“They’re probably local volunteers,” Scully said absently, sliding in the booth next to him this time, giving him the requisite scan. She laid the back of her hand on his forehead, pressed two fingers to his neck. 

His eyes were closed and he looked fidgety. But he submitted to her ministrations. 

“Are you in pain? Are you hearing voices or having visual disturbances like in Quanchamatog?”

“Scully. That’s not how you pronounce it.” He said this in a singsong, teasing voice.

“I knew I should have stuck to calling it Rhode Island.”

He was smiling, she was relieved to see. 

“No, nothing like that. At all.”

“Good. Can it wait, do you think? Well be back in DC in twelve hours. Whatever’s ailing you, I don’t need to tell you that some of the best specialists in their fields work in the DC Metro area. I’m sure I can refer you appropriately.”

“I’m pretty... uncomfortable.” As he said this, he lowered his head into his hands. 

“Mulder you’re really starting to worry me. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? If not, I think we should set off for Tampa...” 

“I have some kind of rash or something. Down there,” he said, pointing to his lap. 

“Oh,” she said, relieved. Rashes were rarely serious in and of themselves. “Down there? Like on your penis?”

“Yeah,” he said. “In that general area.” 

“I see. How long have you had this rash?”

“I first got itchy this morning I guess. I ignored it mostly. But its been getting worse all day. And now it feels so itchy it’s almost on fire.”

“Ok. What does it look like?”

“He gestured to the tea lights. I just tried to get a look, but between the power outage and not having a great angle or a mirror, it’s tough to say.” 

“Of course. Sorry. Does it feel bumpy?”

“A little I guess?”

She nodded. “Warm?”

“Sort of…”

“Is it just on your penis, or on your testicles too?”

“I think just on my penis.” He made eye contact for the first time since he’d left for the bathroom. “Sorry to lay this on you, Scully. I know you’re tired.”

“Mulder, please. I won’t sleep until I know you’re ok and you know it.” 

He smiled at her, almost bashful. “Thanks,” he said. 

“It’s probably nothing,” she said. 

“Really? Good...”

“But,” she interrupted him. “We need to make sure. Because if it’s not nothing, you could need immediate attention.”

“What could it be?”

“Well, lots of things. Most of them fairly innocuous.”

“What if it’s not... innocuous?”

“My biggest concern is that filthy water we were submerged in for several hours yesterday.”

“Ewww Jesus.”

“That, along with the broken skin from the monster bite on your neck, is why yesterday I prescribed the broad spectrum antibiotic for you to take… ahhhh… prophylactically.” She tried not to smile. 

“Ha ha,” Mulder said.

“How many doses have you taken?”

“Two pills.”

“Ok. So it could be a drug reaction,” Scully said, running through the differential diagnoses in her mind. It could be a yeast infection from the antibiotic, though that was unlikely to appear so soon. 

“Do you have a history --family or personal-- of psoriasis?”

“Not me. And no one in my family that I know of.”

“Did you ever see a scaly red rash on either of your parents? Or Samantha?”

“Nope.”

“What else?” Scully whispered. “Mulder, pardon my prying. But as your doctor, I need to ask: Have you had, uh, intercourse within the last six months?”

“This is not happening…” Mulder was chanting to himself, banging his head against the table. 

He sat back up and faced her. “No Scully. I haven’t. It isn’t syphilis or herpes if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The relief that washed over Scully was palpable. She squelched all hints of a smile, stayed in doctor mode. 

“A syphilis rash doesn’t itch, actually. I was more thinking of scabies, with the intensity of the itching you’re experiencing.”

“Is that, like, crabs?” Mulder asked. 

“I guess that’s an anecdotal term for scabies, yes.”

“Well the rather pathetic state of my love life is coming in handy then, allowing us to rule out anything social in nature.”

“Look, it’s probably just some jock itch from the humidity. What kind of underwear did you have on today?”

“Boxers. The usual.”

“All cotton?”

“I think so. I’m not much of a label reader.” 

“You had on jeans all day? They’re a little snug.”

“Scully.”

“Not that I noticed. Just making mental notes for the chart. Airflow is our friend here.”

He nodded.

“The thing is Mulder, your symptoms seem intense, and they came on quickly. My biggest concern is that you have a bacterial infection from that skanky water. If the oral antibiotic you’re already taking isn’t helping, you may need to be in a hospital.”

Mulder sighed deeply. Scully decided not to mention necrotizing fasciitis in particular. Considering the turn her feelings toward Mulder had taken recently, she didn’t want to think about it herself. Luckily it was uncommon, a zebra. 

“It's been a long time since my Dermatology rotation. But I think I could get a much better sense of what it might be if I... examine you?”

“Oh, God Scully. I just don’t think I can…” 

“Okay.” Scully was relieved, truth be told. “Do you want me to drive you to Tampa? I’ll have you to a hospital in ninety inutes.” 

Neither one of them had slept much, if at all, for the past two nights. Questing after sea monsters, delivering babies, then failing to catch ineffectual bank robbers had consumed nearly all their time.

“Scully, that’s good of you. But it’s dark. The roads are still covered in storm debris, and you’re running on empty.”

“It’s true I’d be getting us there on adrenaline alone.”

“You know what? It’s probably nothing. I’ll just go tomorrow. Do you have anything in that doctor bag of yours for the itch?”

“I could probably give you some cortisone cream. But I really think you should be examined Mulder. Maybe there’s a local doctor who would be willing to take a look at you?”

“I already asked at the motel. The only local doc is on vacation, as it happens.”

“Crap,” she said. 

They sat for a moment in the dim silence. The waitress was sweeping the back of the restaurant, putting chairs on tables. They were the final customers. 

“It’s going to have to be me, Mulder.” 

“Scully, no. It’s feeling much better actually. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

One look from her and his argument collapsed. He conceded, and celebrated his defeat by digging at the crotch of his jeans. Which he had been wanting to do for ten minutes. 

“Try not to scratch, Mulder. You could be creating new tissue damage.”

Mulder grunted. 

“I don’t see why you’re so opposed,” Scully lied. “I’ve seen you in your birthday suit before, you know?” She flashed to an image of him shivering on the floor of a tub, steam rising around his naked form. 

“This just seems different. I’ve been unconscious then. Or otherwise wacked out.”

“And you’ve seen me in mine…” Scully said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I have a hazy memory of waking up on a glacier wearing only your snow pants and jacket?”

“And a smile,” Mulder said.

“Was I?” Scully asked, smiling. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling back.

“I agree it’s a more intimate situation than has, ah, arisen before.”

“Scully, will you cut the crap? I’m dying here.”

“Sorry. Mulder, the thing you need to remember is that, in addition to being your friend and partner, I really am a doctor. Your doctor. Bodies are just bodies to me.” 

“That helps.”

“Here’s how we’re gonna do it. We can keep it professional. I’ll go back to my room, scrub up, get out my kit, and set up an examination space. When you’re ready, you can just come over, like you’re going to a doctor’s office. I’ll examine you --it shouldn’t take long-- and you can be on your way. Sound good?”

He shrugged.

“Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I, uh, you know, uh, during the exam…?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. No big deal, Mulder. Besides, it can be preferable to examine a partially or fully erect penis as opposed to a flaccid one.”

“Jesus.”

“Especially when concerns are dermatological. For obvious reasons.” 

“Oh God.” 

“Some urology clinics actually have rooms set aside so men suspected of having certain conditions can take some time to become aroused before an exam.”

“Good to know.” He was starting to resent her smug certitude. 

“Either way, I’ll know a lot more after getting a look at that rash.”

“This definitely isn’t sexy talk.”

“Nope. Purely clinical.”

“All right. Let’s go. We’re about to be booted out of here anyway. I’m going to take a quick shower before my… appointment.” 

“Unless the power is back on at the motel, it will be a quick, dark, cold shower.”

“Which is probably for the best, actually. But to be on the safe side, Scully, can you smear some of that green clay mask on your face before I come over?”


	4. Chapter 4

Back in her room, a particularly dingy iteration of the rundown local accommodation they tended toward, Scully brushed her teeth, washed her face, and scrubbed her hands thoroughly as she waited for Mulder. Moving about the room, lit dimly by a battery powered lantern provided by the proprietor, she threw huge shadows against the wall as she laid out supplies from her medical kit on the small table.

She gathered everything she thought she might need: sterile gauze bandages still encased in paper, rubber gloves, a Sharpie, hand sanitizer, a pen light, a legal pad to serve as a makeshift chart, and a pen. She’d wait until she was finished to make notes rather than drag out the exam.

When she was done, she pulled out a straight backed chair, sat down, and waited.

She presented a cool and collected exterior toward Mulder about the prospect of examining him, but in truth she was edgy. It needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do it. Any more than he wanted her to, apparently. Though she’d have loved to shower and change into her pajamas, she decided to remain professionally dressed for their upcoming... appointment. Boundaries were their friend.

A few minutes later Scully heard a soft tap at her door. She opened it, and Mulder stepped past her into the room, avoiding eye contact. His hair was wet, and he wore sweats and a t-shirt.

“What’s up Doc?” he said, his voice marginally higher pitched than normal. Tense, he stood before her in bare feet. He smelled fresh and masculine. She felt like a wilted flower, and wished she’d taken a shower too.

“What’s up?” She repeated.

“I did that to myself, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” she said, nodding.

“Anyway…” he said.

“So. Mulder. Go into the bathroom and take off your pants. Wrap yourself in a towel and come on back. Do you want me to call you Agent Mulder?” Boundaries.

“No, Scully. Just Mulder. Any role playing we slip into could be a step in the wrong direction.” His smile looked lubricous in the dim light.

“Noted,” she said, turning her back to him, needlessly adjusting the supplies she’d set out.

“Though,” he called from the bathroom “if you want to try that some other time, just say the word.”

When he emerged a minute later, he was less sure of himself. He studied his feet as he made her way toward her, a towel fastened around his hips. He had taken his t-shirt off too. He stopped a few feet in front of where she sat on the chair.

“How is it feeling after your shower?” she asked, looking up at him.

“A little less itchy. But not much.”

“Alright, Mulder. Showtime.”

As she pivoted toward him, she was pulling on plastic gloves. She had moved the lantern directly behind her.

“You’re not going to ask me to turn and bend, are you Scully?”

“Not unless you really annoy me.”

He took a step toward her, took in a full breath and held it, then unfastened the towel. He held it in one hand.

Sitting on the chair, she flicked her pen light toward him, eye level with his crotch. It was as she remembered. His penis flaccid was within average parameters for size and circumcised. Normal male anatomy.

She glanced up at him, but he was staring straight ahead at the tacky sailboat painting on the wall, pulling in and expelling deep breaths slowly.

She reached out and gently took him in her gloved hand. He started at the contact, but resumed his deep breathing as she held his penis at the tip. She angled it up, down, and to each side. She ran the penlight up and down the shaft she could get a sense of the extent of the rash.

“Ok, Mulder,” she said, after a minute. “You’ve got a rash all right.” It was very very red. Too irritated to be accounted for by jock itch.

“Uh-huh,” he said, glancing down. “God, that looks nasty in the light.”

Scully didn’t respond to this.

“Mulder, I’m going to take off my gloves. I need more feel in order to determine how warm the rash is compared with the skin around it. And to get a better sense of the texture.”

“Texture,” he said. “O-kay.” He swallowed hard and nodded, fixing his eyes straight ahead again.

She peeled off her gloves and took him in her hand again, leaning in to examine the bumpy red rash as she ran her index finger up and down the length of him. The raised red area covered the top side and head of his penis completely, but the underside was mostly unaffected. She was conscious of inhaling his clean musky scent, and of her exhaled breath he could most likely feel against this most sensitive part of his body.

She pointed the light at his thatch of pubic hair. Peering at it closely, she ran her fingers down through it three times. No sores or scabies.

She was dimly aware of a bead of sweat working its way down his abdomen, which rose and fell more rapidly than before. Then he was whistling. Yankee Doodle.

She held three fingers on the rash for a few seconds, then slid them down along the underside of his penis to determine if the unaffected skin was cooler. As she did this, his flesh came to life. His penis bobbed slightly in her hand, becoming partially erect.

“Oh, please god no,” he muttered, his arm coming up to cover his face.

“Hey,” Scully said, pausing her exam and standing up.

She heard him murmuring something, repeating a phrase. Chicken guts? She put her hand on his elbow until he uncovered his face and looked at her.

“Mulder, please. We talked about this. You’re an adult male having an involuntary physiological response. It’s normal and nothing to worry about.”

“Involuntary? Maybe when I was thirteen...”

“Have you ever had one when you didn’t consciously mean to? Since then?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever wanted one but not been able to achieve one?”

“Well, once in a blue moon. I suppose.”

“Involuntary.”

“I take your point.” He was speaking through a clenched jaw.

“You don’t need to distract yourself,” she said. “I just need to examine the the rest of your groin.”

“Okey doke,” he said, smiling cheerlessly.

She sat back down and worked more briskly. He was quite erect now. Apparently, Scully noted, Mulder was a grower rather than a shower.

“Mulder, can you hold your penis up against your stomach?”

He grunted, reached down and grasped himself, did as she asked.

With that out of the way, she pointed her light lower and examined his testicles. When her palm came up under his sac and gently lifted it, he groaned. His penis, still somehow getting fatter and firmer, twitched. She saw no sign of dermatitis, swelling, or abnormality anywhere else. She withdrew her hands.

“You can let go now,” she said. But he didn’t move, holding his penis against his abdomen posessively in his fist. She noted that his breathing was now shallow and rapid. She didn’t suppose she’d record that in the chart. It was hot, the two of them in the sweltering little room, no air conditioning. Sweat gathered at the nape of her neck.

“One more thing,” she said.

“Christ alive, Scully. How long is this gonna take?”

“This is important. We’re almost done.”

She leaned over to the table and picked up the medium-tipped Sharpie. In high school, she’d used the exact same type of marker to compose her ‘Dana Scully for Student Council Secretary!’ posters.

“I need you to hold the light,” she said, taking his penis from him.

He growled, but did as she asked, illuminating the area she was examining.

With her sharpie she planned to outline the upper edge of the rash near the base of his penis as she’d been taught to do. The line would be used to determine later if the rash was expanding or receding. To accomplish this, she grasped the head of his penis in her left fist and tugged, drawing it away from his body.

“Oh God,” he said as she pulled on him. They were both sweating. Her hand slipped against his shaft and head a few times, a firm grasp eluding her. “Jesus Scully!”

“Sorry,” she said meekly, letting go. She wiped her hands with the towel he was still holding, took a deep breath, and grasped him again, this time more firmly.

His stomach muscles were twitching. His breathing had become erratic. He began to pulse his hips rhythmically, jamming the head of his dick snugly into her fist. It was the tiniest of movements, reflexive or nearly so, but Scully could barely concentrate enough to draw the damn line.

Finally she released him. Fully flustered, she turned around to hide her pink cheeks, digging through her doctor bag and pulling out a tube of steroid cream.

“This will help with the itch. Do you want to apply it, or should I?” He still held a towel in one hand, her pen light in the other.

“Go ahead,” he said, shining the light down, illuminating his penis. His voice was different now, gravely and grave. His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, challenging her.

She swallowed hard, regretting the offer instantly.

“It has to be dry.” She wanted to tell him to make sure it was dry when he applied it himself later. But her voice wasn’t quite working.

She opened a gauze compress bandage and wrapped it around her hand, then patted and swabbed his penis carefully until the skin was free of moisture. She had to pass her gauzed up thumb over the tip three times as he was oozing pre-ejaculate.

“Ughhhh Scully,” he said as she rubbed him there. She didn’t know if he was lodging an objection or articulating something else. In either case, his voice was going right through her. She was, she feared, beginning to lose control of this exam.

She uncapped the tube and squeezed a generous amount of cream on the palm of her hand.

She grasped his penis at the base. God. Thick. He jumped when she touched him.

“Cold,” he said, a smile lighting at the corners of his mouth. She tried not to think of his mouth.

“Sorry,” she said.

She meant to work quickly, intending to run her hand up his shaft briskly, slather some cortisone on the affected area and send him on his way. 

Instead she found herself slowing down as she worked, gripping him firmly, slowly stroking the long inches from root to tip, then back again, mindfully administering care to each and every millimeter of his rash. 

Truth be told, she was amazed by the way her fingers and thumb didn’t meet around his girth, entranced by how heavy and hard he felt in her hand. How hot. How alive. 

She snapped out of it when he exhaled audibly, as she applied cream to the underside of his glans with her thumb, rubbing soft circles against his tenderist skin. Ahhhhhh God, he said.

She pulled her hands back, and without glancing up toward him she squeezed more ointment from the tube and grasped him in one hand. With the other she palmed the head of his penis, twisting her wrist so that the entire area was well covered.

As she did this, he slid his hips toward her, trying to increase the contact. It was all she could do to pull herself away.

“All done,” she said, turning her back to him to wipe off her hands. Her voice sounded false and tinny to her own ears. She concentrated on speaking normally. “Go put your pants on and I’ll tell you what I think.”

She sat down and crossed her legs at the knees. Which made her feel a certain way. Which she would deal with later. She scribbled some notes on the legal pad: Be professional Be professional Be professional Be professional Be professional.

A few minutes later, he appeared. Dressed. Thank God.

“Hey,” he said. He sat on the edge of her bed. His eyes were soft now, his grin sheepish.

“OK, Mulder,” she said, turning to face him, clearing her throat. “There are two possibilities. I think you have contact dermatitis. Most likely from a new soap or detergent you started using recently. Does that ring any bells?”

“Yeah, maybe. Last week I took my laundry to a new place that just opened up on my block.”

“The underwear you wore today, were they washed there?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ok good. This is a common diagnosis. We’re thinking horses not zebras here.”

“I’m going to go ahead and take that as a compliment, Scully.”

“I walked right into that.”

“Ya did.”

“What about these sweats?” she said, leaning over and tugging at the fabric at his thigh below where they were tented by his still vigorous erection. “Were they washed last week at the new place?”

Mulder thought back. “No. The underwear came out of my laundry bag, but the sweats were in the drawer.”

“Perfect. So wear these tonight.”

“Will do,” he said.

“The other possibility, albeit very remote, is that you have some sort of cellulitis from an infection. I think the rash would hurt more than itch, and you’d be sicker in general. But that’s why I drew the line on you. I need to take another look in an hour. If the rash has advanced toward your heart, we’re heading to Tampa.”

“Okay.”

“So, Mulder, here are my instructions: Go back to your room, lie down on your bed, and read. Wear only these sweats or, better yet, nothing.” She ignored him when he wagged his eyebrows at her. “Don’t put on any clothes that might have been washed at the new place. If you start itching, put some more cortisone cream on the rash,” she said handing him the tube.

“But don’t paw at it, whatever you do.”

“Can I have a beer?”

“If that will help you relax, by all means. Just one though, with the antibiotic you’re on.”

“We want to leave it alone and we want it to breathe. Let it breathe, and come see me again in an hour. Can you handle that?”

“Can do.”

“If you fall asleep, I’ll call your room.”

“Okay.”

“See you in an hour.”

"Thank's Scully," he said softly over his shoulder as he opened the door to go.

He left. She collapsed onto her bed and, groaning, buried her face in a pillow. She didn't move for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

After Mulder left, she lay face down on her bed, perfectly still. She was withered and wrung out from the most trying medical exam she’d ever administered. And lack of sleep. And the unrelenting heat. And hormones, damn them. She didn’t want to move, not an inch.

Some time later, after her own involuntary sexual response had receded, after she had chided herself repeatedly for coming so close to a serious ethical breach, after much of the normally pleasant but in this case torturous tension had drained away, she felt the first twinge of menstrual cramps. Great.

She rose and grabbed the pen light from the table and rooted around her doctor bag for her small bottle of ibuprofen. She found it and shook it. She knew she’d been running low. But empty? These cases, this trip, this night, her life? Was turning into a cosmic joke. On her.

Just then the power came back on. The air conditioner bolted to the wall chugged to life. A minute later, the compressor started humming. She turned on a bedside lamp.

Looking at her hands in the weak light, the cleanest part of her body, she wondered how Leroy Walter Villarreal Suarez Jr. might be doing. Her first delivery, hopefully her last, ten pounds ten ounces. She’d held her breath as she cradled him after he’d slipped free of the birth canal, hoping to hear a wan little cry. His face twisted mightily and he’d opened his mouth and bellowed, shocking them all. Life. She smiled a little, remembering that moment.

Maybe the trip hadn’t been all bad. With the hot water heater now operational, she started running a bath. Help was on the way.

Her clothes were so dusty and permeated with sweat they could probably walk around on their own. She resisted the urge to slip out of them -- boundaries -- and washed her face carefully, swirling on the soap as Mulder sprung to mind. Literally. God damn. What else didn’t she know about him after six years? She thought of Fowley and glowered at the mirror, splashed very cold water on her cheeks and steeled herself for his impending follow up visit. She planned to have him in and out in under sixty seconds.

“I’m baaack,” Mulder said minutes later as Scully opened the door for him. As though he had ever been gone.

“Hello,” she said. She was going to manufacture a little smile, but she didn’t have to. It was genuine. Why was she always so glad to see him? It bugged her.

“Did you follow instructions?” she asked.

“Yep. Well. Mostly I complied. I might have pawed at myself a tiny bit. Briefly, I swear. New land speed record. It was a medical emergency of a different sort.”

She looked at him levelly, refusing to react. She shook her head and let her eyes fall closed.

He shrugged and smiled.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“It feels really good, Scully. I admit, I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Mulder...” she warned.

“Oh, the rash. Better, I think. Less itchy. And maybe less red. It hasn’t crossed the line.”

Neither have we, she thought. And I’d better get you out of here before that changes.

“Should we take a look?”

“Should I?...” he asked, gesturing toward her bathroom.

“Not necessary. Just pull those down...” she said, pointing toward the waistband of his sweats. She suddenly felt very tired.

In the illuminated room with his pants around his knees he was flaccid and a little ridiculous. The fierce hooded sea monster that had taken up all the air in the room earlier had been tamed, replaced by a cute little seahorse. The dermatitis looked less angry and was not advancing.

He hitched his t-shirt up and out of her way with one hand. She reached down and touched his penis, though she hadn’t exactly planned to. It was good to be thorough when conducting a clinical exam. He twitched a little in her hand, but it was obvious he was in a different stage of the sexual response cycle than he’d been when he left. Resolution. She envied him. The rash was less raised and cooling off. His skin there was so soft.

“That’s it,” she said, stepping away and packing up her doctor kit. “It looks better. You’re fine. It might take a week or so to clear up. Re-wash those clothes twice before you wear them again. And get the name of that detergent if you can. You’re allergic. See your doctor when we get back.”

“You are my doctor,” he said, pulling up his pants. He wasn't just flirting. It was true.

He sat down in the chair and glanced at the yellow legal pad on the table, reaching out to pick it up. Did he always have to be so inquisitive? She maneuvered quickly around him and grabbed it up. She tore off the top page, balled it up, and tossed it in the wastebasket. Two points. Mulder’s eyes followed her. She tucked the legal pad into her briefcase.

“Should you and I make a follow up appointment?” he asked. “For when this is all cleared up?”

She ignored him. More than sixty seconds and counting and he wasn’t gone yet. Way more.

“Scully,” he said. “I’m teasing you...” Mostly, he thought. Unless I’m not. He didn’t want to pressure her or saddle her with his feelings for her. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine, Mulder. You’ve behaved admirably.” We both did, she thought. “It was an unusual situation. Tomorrow we can pretend it never happened.”

“We’re good at that,” he said. She thought she heard an edge of rancor in his voice.

She seemed subdued, upset.

“I just don’t want things to be weird…” he said.

“Mulder, it isn’t weird. Nothing weird happened. And if you feel weird about it, we can just rip this day from the book of our lives. Crumple it up and throw it out.” She dusted her hands together, still avoiding his eyes.

“Can we?” he said. He wasn’t sure that’s how it worked.

“I’m beat,” she said, sighing. “I’m gonna take a bath…”

“Okay, I’ll get out of your way. Thanks again Scully.”

“Mulder do you have any Advil?”

“No,” he said, halting halfway to the door. “I’m an aspirin guy.”

“It has to be Advil,” she muttered. “Ibuprofen.” She supposed there wasn’t an open store within twenty miles. On storm clogged roads.

“Cramps?” he asked. Here’s hoping this meant the end of her PMS.

She didn’t answer. She was removing her earrings, her back ramrod straight, setting them on the bedside table. It was obvious she wanted him gone.

“I can ask at the desk...”

“Would you?” she asked, not turning around.

She must be desperate, he thought. To ask for his help.

“I’m going to get in the tub. Here’s my key,” she said, handing it to him.

He left her room, pocketing her keycard, letting it snuggle up and slide against his keycard. He slipped on his sneakers and headed toward the front of the motel, a little self-conscious, padding around in sweats without underwear. He pulled his t-shirt down to cover his business and strode toward the office.

No one was installed behind the desk, so he rang the buzzer against the wall. A few minutes later, a man came into the office through the back door.

“How can I help you?” he said. “Room eight, right?”

“Yeah. I need some ibuprofen. My partner does.”

“Let’s see,” the man said, ducking beneath the counter. “Ibuprofen for room nine.”

He was heavy set and in his late thirties. Mulder hadn’t seen him before. A lot of these little motels were Mom and Pop places. He assumed he’d been checked in my Mom. He wondered how the man knew what room he was attached to. He looked around, his well honed sense of paranoia activating. Then he realized there were only three cars in the parking lot, including theirs. Maybe a dozen rooms. He relaxed. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Behind the desk they had toothbrushes and toothpaste, small bottles of mouthwash and shampoo, little packets of benadryl, cold capsules, and Tylenol. No ibuprofen.

“Sorry,” the man said. “We usually have some, but we must be out.”

“Is there somewhere I could get some? It’s something of an emergency.”

“Well, there’s a gas station out on state route forty one, maybe fifteen miles away. They’ll be open as long as we have power.”

“The power’s back, right?”

“They’re needing to shut down sections of the grid from time to time for repairs. It’ll be days before it’s steady,” he said.

“Great,” Mulder said.

“Hang on,” the man said. “We live out back. My wife needs the stuff from time to time, and my dad uses it too for his knee. Let me see if I can find some ibuprofen for room nine.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Mulder said.

The man was gone for fifteen minutes. Mulder had read all six pamphlets covering the major tourist attractions in this corner of Florida: go carts, caves, a petting zoo, a winery, a horse farm, and a drag racing museum. He idly wondered if Scully’d like to visit any of them before they shoved off the next day. He pictured her in a go cart, laughing and goggled as she wended around a figure eight track. Nah, probably not. He was about to give up on the proprietor and head back to his room when the man pushed through the door again.

“Sorry,” he said. “We have three kids and it’s a school night. Lot’s going on back at the ranch.”

“Sorry to pull you away,” Mulder said.

“Not at all. We appreciate your patience with the power situation. Here you go,” he said, handing him a small ziplock baggie with eight or ten Advil. Score.

“Take good care of her now,” the man said absently. He had turned his attention toward the open ledger on the desk, a pencil in his hand. Mulder figured he had forgotten they were in separate rooms. Partners, but not partners.

He stopped by the vending machine on the way back to his room, the man’s last words running through his mind.

Maybe he would take care of her. Turnabout being, after all, fair play.

Scully with her high collars and her unfailingly professional demeanor. With her indoor plumbing and her stupid salads. With her secret cramps and her bad dreams he heard through the wall but never acknowledged. Scully who delivered babies and showed up every single time he needed her. With her private pain she kept so close to her chest.

He half wanted to break her and he half wanted to mend her. He wasn’t even sure, in this case, what the difference might be.


	6. Chapter 6

Outside Scully’s room, studying the spider web cracks in the concrete in the nearly deserted parking lot, Mulder was experiencing a failure of nerve. Already.

He pulled up his t-shirt and scratched his belly. His wiener still itched, but significantly less intensely than it had a few hours earlier. The crud had quit creeping, thank god, and he was trying not to grab at it. Airflow, steroid cream, and changing his pants had worked wonders. Scully knew her stuff.

After leaving the motel office, he stopped by his own room for a few minutes. He kicked off his sneakers and loaded the goodies from the vending machine into a plastic shopping bag. He tossed the snacks on top of the seeds and a newspaper he’d purchased at a gas station earlier that afternoon. Then he added two beers from the minibar and a Toblerone. Probably they’d charge him eight bucks for that alone. He smoothed his hair down in the mirror — that was hopeless — and left to go next door.

Like a hurricane caught offshore, he was stalled in front of her door. He tried to take himself back to the moment he’d decided to do this. He supposed he was after two things. For one, he wanted her to admit she wasn’t as utterly unmoved by him as she pretended to be. He also wanted to offer her genuine comfort in a moment of need.

He’d be like her own personal Florence Nightingale. With a big squishy, pushy crush.

He should probably just drop off the snack food and medicine and be on his way. He’d all but decided to do just and only that by the time he took in a big breath, knocked twice, and let himself into Scully’s room.

She was out of the tub, bedecked in full pajama party regalia: oversized flannel. Fortunately the A/C had cooled the room considerably. He briefly wondered what she’d be wearing otherwise. He shook the image from his mind. This wasn’t about him.

Well, in a roundabout way it probably was.

“Hey there,” he said. “Special delivery for Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully…”

She lay face down on top of the bed covers with wet hair and a damp hand towel draped over her low back. She groaned.

“Hey,” she said, looking up as he stood over her. “I was just wondering what happened to you.”

He unpacked the contents of his shopping bag and set the items one at a time on her night table: A regular Coke, a Diet Coke, a bottle of cold water, a ginger ale in case she was nauseous, a bag of Doritos, his seeds, a bag of M&M’s, cheese on wheat crackers, the Toblerone, and two beers.

“Wow,” she said, flipping over and sitting up. “That’s quite the haul.”

“Last but not least,” he said. He pulled the Advil from his pocket.

“I was afraid to ask,” she said, snatching the baggie from his hand. She shook out three pills, cracked open the Coke, and knocked them back. “Mulder, where did you get these?”

“I asked around,” he said. “Do you want to eat something? Won’t they upset your stomach?” Three pills seemed like a lot for a person her size, but she was the doctor.

“Good point,” she said, eyeing her options, then looking back at him. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have you been paying attention to my… preferences?”

“You don’t indulge very often, Scully. When you do it catches my eye. Would you care for something else? Skittles? Sour cream and onion chips? Life Savers? Lots of non-nutritive food options at our fingertips...”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is perfect.” She grabbed the bag of M&M’s and tore it open, sitting up against the headboard and twisting the cap off the water. She tossed the damp towel to the end of the bed.

“Thanks for the drugs, Mulder. Seriously. You have no idea.”

“Speaking of drugs,” he asked, “do you smell that?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I decided about twenty minutes ago I do not smell that. Whatever illicit or illegal activity might be going on in the next room or anywhere else is somebody else’s problem. At least until I’ve gotten a full night’s sleep.”

“Fair enough,” he said, nodding. The skunky sweet smell of marijuana was strong, and not a big deal. But there was also a harsh synthetic odor wafting through the air he couldn’t quite place. Some type of inhaled stimulant, probably. He was not inclined to get involved either.

He picked up a beer and eyed the chair across the room, the one she’d sat in earlier while examining him. He thought of dragging it over and perching next to her where she lay sprawled on the bed. Not wanting to be confused with her home health aide, however, he opted instead to flop on the mattress next to her.

Might as well sin boldly.

He popped open his beer and took a big swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Nervous.

She was scrutinizing him from the corners of her eyes.

He dug the last item out of the bag, a newspaper. He leaned back against the headboard, crossed his legs at the ankle, and started perusing the front page. He enjoyed picking up a local paper on the road from time to time. She knew this.

“Mulder?” she said.

“Yeah?” Like he climbed into the sack next to her all the time. Playing dumb was worth a shot.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” was all she said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I thought maybe I could keep you company until the meds kick in? What does it take, a half hour?”

“Closer to an hour,” she said.

He nodded.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be lying here. But I want to go to sleep soon, so prepare to get the boot.”

“Will do,” he said. Not looking at her, taking another sip of his beer.

She neatly folded the edge of the M&M bag over three times and set it on the nightstand. She finished the water in one deep draw and lay back down on her stomach.

“Thanks, Mulder” she said turning her head toward him.

“Least I could do,” he said.

She snorted out a little laugh.

“How are you feeling by the way? Still better?”

“Yeah.” he said. “Much.”

“Good,” she said. Her eyes drifted closed.

“Do you want me to freshen that up for you?” he asked, pointing to the towel at the end of the bed. Improvising now.

Her eyes popped open. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

He set down his beer and got up, snagged the towel from the end of the bed and headed into the bathroom. “Hot or cold?” he asked.

“Hot,” she said. “As hot as possible.”

“Hot,” he repeated, looking into the vanity mirror. So far things were going... not bad. Considering what a half-assed plan he’d formulated. He waited till the water from the tap was steaming, soaked the towel, then wrung it out thoroughly.

She sat up to take the towel from him as he walked by, but he passed her and brought it around to his side of the bed.

“I got it,” he said. “Lower back?”

She was eyeing him warily. But she lay back down. “Yeah,” she said, pulling up the edge of her pajama top a few inches. Exposing her tattoo. He very much wanted to get a closer look at it, and had since she first got it. Now, however, was not the time. He was content to play the long game where Scully was concerned.

He folded the towel twice longwise and laid it carefully against her skin, edging the elastic of her pajama pants a little lower with his fingertips as he applied it. She groaned again. He felt a flicker of arousal light low in his gut.

He sat back and opened his newspaper, skimming it while keeping a furtive eye on her. She was breathing deeply with her eyes closed. He sensed some tension still in her body, though, and knew she hadn’t fallen asleep.

He turned to the Classifieds. That section in particular always brimmed with local color.

She winced and inhaled sharply, rolling and clutching her right hip.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. She was breathing shallowly, her mouth a tight white line. He was suddenly glad his body didn’t put him through such an ordeal each month.

“Does the Advil help a lot?”

“Eighty percent,” she said. “At least. I’ll be able to sleep.”

He checked his watch. “Hang in there for another forty minutes.”

She nodded. Then a puzzled look crossed her face. She seemed about to speak.

“You want to watch TV?” he asked, heading her off at the pass. “Take your mind off it? We could catch the news, maybe get updated on the case...”

“No,” she said. “You can if you want.”

“Nah,” he said. “This is just getting good.” He rattled the Ocala Star-Banner.

“Mulder you don’t have to hang around. I’ll be fine.”

“But I was wondering, Scully. Can I ask you a doctor question?”

She nodded.

“If I’m allergic to my underwear, why don’t I have a rash everywhere my boxers were touching?”

“Because you don’t manscape,” she said, smiling. She rolled back onto her belly, a little closer to him now.

“Ah,” he said, smiling too. “I see. I knew all that fuzz would come in handy someday.”

“This towel’s getting clammy again,” she said, making a sour face. She peeled it from her back and tossed it in the direction of the bathroom.

Mulder stared at her bare sliver of back, pink from the moist heat. She must be in a wild mood, Scully, messing up her room like that. He decided to refrain from commenting.

“Do you want me to warm it up for you again?” he asked instead.

Just then the lights went out with a pop. The air conditioner shuddered to a halt as well.

“Crap,” he said. “The owner warned me this might happen.”

“They must be doing repairs,” she said. “Powering down sections of the grid.”

He wondered how she knew these things.

He put the newspaper aside and slid down in the bed, fluffing the pillow, settling in next to her on his back. He webbed his fingers behind his neck. It was perfectly dark and eerily quiet. He could hear her breathing.

“Mulder?”

“Can I ask you one more medical question Scully?”

“Um, okay.”

“The steroid cream you gave me. Is it gonna make it seem like my penis has been hitting the gym? If you know what I mean.”

“Mulder!” She was laughing. “We’d prescribe a lot more of it if that were the case. Though I think such a potion, if it existed, would be contraindicated in your case. It’s possible to have too much of a good thing.”

“I see,” he said. “Care to say more about that?”

“No,” she said. “Definitely not.”

It was a clear night and a gibbous moon shone through the window. His eyes adjusted and so could make out the outlines of the larger forms in the room.

“It’s so quiet,” she said.

He rolled up onto his side and decisively placed his hand where the hot compress had been, flat against the center of her low back. He kept some space between them though, not otherwise touching her.

“Mulder? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he answered, keeping his voice soft and low. “Really, Scully. This isn’t a move. I just want to take care of you tonight.”

“But Mulder…”

“Like you took care of me. When I needed you to. I know it was uncomfortable for you.”

She sighed deeply. He was glad she wasn’t denying it.

“You take care of everyone, Scully. You delivered a baby yesterday. I still can’t believe that. But who takes care of you?”

“Mulder, we’re on a case…”

“What case? Come on, Scully. If you want me to leave I will, but don’t make excuses. Those morons are either nabbed or three hundred miles away. Probably both. We’re flying home in the morning.”

She sighed again, even more deeply. But she said nothing. Another tacit truce.

He began moving his hand on her back in slow circles. He felt the apprehension in her body, the indecisiveness.

“Just till you fall asleep,” he whispered.

She relented and relaxed. So did he, resting his head on his arm as he massaged her lightly, ranging a little lower, a little higher with each swipe.

“I saw some pamphlets in the office earlier. What do you say we pursue some local recreation before we leave tomorrow?”

“What kind of recreation, Mulder? G-rated, I hope.”

“We’ve got plenty of wholesome options,” he said. “The humidity is supposed to break. It’s gonna be a nice day.”

“Can you press harder?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

He did, though he didn’t have a great angle, digging the heel of his hand into her back.

“Ahhhh,” she said. He wished he could see her face. But he didn’t want to get greedy.

“We’ve got horseback riding. Caving. A petting zoo. A drag racing museum. Go carts. Any of that sound like fun?”

“A drag racing museum? We haven’t done anything touristy since the Liberty Bell.”

“I forgot about that,” he said. “What a letdown. Who knew it would be so dinky?”

“Harder,” she said. He sat up and straddled her, grounding his knees on the mattress on either side of her legs, still not touching her except with his hands.  
.  
“Mulder what are you doing?”

“Creating leverage, Scully. You’re the physics major here.”

He placed his hands on either side of her sacral vertebrae and pressed, kneading with his thumbs.

“Ohhhhh,” she said. “That’s helping.”

“Good,” he said. The air had grown still and solid. The massage was facilitated by her sweaty back. But hindered by her shirt.

“Why don’t you take this off?” he said, plucking at her top. “No A/C. You’re hot.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Mulder?”

“I do. It’s pitch black and you’re face down.”

“What if the lights come back on?” she asked, beginning to work at the buttons.

“I’ll shut my eyes till you’re dressed again.”

“You’d better,” she said. She gave up on the buttons and pulled her shirt off over her head.

He worked his hands up her back, plying her stiff form with his thumbs. He treaded gently over her exit wound scar — she was still healing — but spent some time working on the tendons and muscles between her scapula, coaxing them to give up the tension they were holding. He moved higher and loosened her shoulders, her neck. He ran his fingers up through her hair, massaging her scalp with his fingertips.

Every so often she’d sigh contentedly.

As he worked his way up her frame he’d sit back occasionally and brush his backside against hers, then straighten up again.

He dragged his fingers gently down her spine, down her arms, then pressed his hands deeply into her lower back again. He noticed as he did this she was curling her hips against the mattress, rhythmically, almost imperceptibly.

He pushed back and laid down beside her again, keeping his hand on her back.

“Thanks, Mulder. I feel better. You should go.”

“What’s the rush, Scully? You got plans?”

“Maybe,” she said. He thought he heard her smiling through the dark.

“Does it hurt anywhere else? You were holding your side before…”

“Yeah,” she said rolling over, her back to him. “Here.” She took his hand and put it on her abdomen, just below her hip bone.

He rubbed his palm in tight circles at the spot.

“What are your other symptoms? Besides the cramps? Are you bleeding yet?”

“No,” she said. “Tomorrow. First I get irritable for a day or two. Or three.”

“I wasn’t gonna say a word…”

She pinched his arm.

“What else?”

“You really want to know?”

“I do. It’s always interesting to hear how the other half lives.”

“I get bloated, concurrent with the bad mood. I retain like five pounds of water. Then I get the cramps. They’re sometimes intense, but only ever last a day. Then I get my period. And we start all over again.”

“Scully, where does someone like you keep five pounds of water?”

“My abdomen. My extremities. My breasts. My clothes don’t fit right. My nipples get sore. Especially when its cold.”

“Every month?”

“Pretty much. For a few days, yeah. Sometimes I hold my coffee cup against my breasts when it really hurts.”

“Am I ever in the room, when you do this?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sure I would have noticed that.”

“I’m stealthy.”

“God, women have a lot to deal with.”

“Well, men have their own challenges...”

“Yeah. I guess I’m exhibit A in that regard. Today anyway.”

“We all have our crosses to bear, Mulder,” she said. She had rolled onto her back to talk with him. His hand was still on her hip, his fingers soothing her there.

“Do they hurt now? Your nipples?”

“Yeah. The Advil won’t help much. I take a diuretic for that. Usually I skip it though. They’re hard on the kidneys.”

“So you just go with this ingenious coffee cup remedy?”

“Heat. At home I use a heating pad.”

He drew his hand across her low belly, let it rest between her hips.

“What else helps?”

“Let’s see. Stretching. Hot baths. They’re a cure-all. The worst part of getting shot was I couldn’t take a bath for a month.”

He knew that wasn’t true, but didn’t want to summon that world of pain.

“Hot water bottles. Those have a nice warm heft to them. Heat and pressure.”

“Are you leaving anything out?

“Yeah,” she said.

He lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

“Ohhh Mulder. Ahhhh, God. Stop.”

“Okay,” he said, picking his head up.

“You’ve been sweet tonight. I appreciate it. But I don’t want to cross any lines here. We need to be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Let’s not then, cross any lines. Let’s move the line a little, just this once. We already agreed to tear this page from the book of our lives, didn’t we?”

She snorted. It was satisfying to lob that hyper-rational tidbit back into her court.

“Just let me help you, Scully. Nothing needs to change tomorrow. We’ll still just be you and me. I’m fully clothed. Your pants are on. I’ve been benched by you anyway, right? Doctor’s orders.”

“You don’t take orders. It’s well established.”

“I do tonight. I don’t want to push you, I don’t.”

He lay perfectly still next to her for a long minute, his hand draped across her belly. He could feel her ruminating, arguing with herself.

“Take your shirt off then. Just your shirt.”

“See?” he said, whipping his t-shirt off over his head, “I’m very compliant.”

He lay perpendicular to her on the bed, keeping his lower body, and his conspicuous arousal, far from her. He’d deal with that later. He nuzzled her breast, then brought her nipple into his mouth again.

“Aghhhhhhh,” she said as he nipped and nursed her, bucking her hips up when he sucked her deeply. Heat and pressure. In the close air of the room he could smell her. Musky, a little sweet.

He trailed his hand lightly up and down her thighs, from her knees to her hips and back.

She ran her fingers through his hair, along his neck and down his back. Her hands small and strong on him had been his undoing earlier, during her exam. He knew not to look, then did it anyway.

After working both breasts thoroughly, he rested his chin in his hands. In the faint light the tips of her nipples glistened with his spit. Good luck forgetting that image. He blew lightly across her body.

Her eyes were closed, but she was unmistakably open to him.

He placed his hand flat on her belly, let his pinky dip down beneath her pj’s and toy with the elastic of her undies. Scully and her plain cotton sexiness.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

He needed to be invited, for this part.

She put her hand over his and slid it lower.

He curled his hand against her over her underwear, feeling her heat, her need. Not moving.

“Under,” she said. “Touch me, Mulder.”

“You need it,” he said, sliding his hand into her panties.

“I do. I need it. God.”

He twined his fingers into her tight curls. Then she stretched her legs and pointed her toes, sighing, parting her legs fractionally. He bent his middle finger, dipping into her pooled slick warmth. As she sighed, he crooked his finger and began to spread her slippery warm wetness toward her heart. Soon he was sighing himself, circling her clit which was rising and pulsing under his touch.

“Two things, Scully.” His breath hot and fast in her ear.

“Yeah?”

“You feel really fucking good. Jesus.”

“I do. You do. What else?”

“I can’t kiss you. I want to. But if I kiss you, this day stays.”

“S’okay,” she said, throwing her head back. “For me too. Suck on my tits some more though. Please.”

He complied.


	7. Chapter 7

They both woke abruptly when the lights and air came back on. He was curled around her, both of them on top of the covers, his hand nestled between her breasts.

As soon as he gained his bearings he rolled away and pressed his face into the mattress, remembering his promise to close his eyes. He heard her moving around, popping the tab on a soda and ferreting out some more pills from the baggie he’d brought her. Then she was digging through her suitcase, switching off lamps and slipping into the bathroom. Closing the door.

He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

He checked his watch. Three. He wondered briefly if he should decamp to his own room as he had told her he planned to. Of course that was before. He smiled as he recalled her trembling under his hand, his mouth on her breast, her whole body taut and straining as he rubbed her.

He raised his hand to his mouth, ran two fingers along his lips. The ones he’d used to tease her till she moaned, fuck her tight wet pussy as her knees fell open, then mash her fat clit. 

He touched them to his tongue, tasting a vestige of her salt and musk. Oh fuck Mulder, she’d said just before she came. She’d been so open, so responsive. So… so… so… God.

Forget his pink itchy dick, he’d need to see a doctor when he got home about a lobotomy in order to tear this page from the book of his life.

He rolled onto his back and settled a pillow under his head. The stream of conditioned air passing over his torso felt pleasant, drying the sweat that had collected on his skin as he slept pressed against her. He scratched idly at his chest, remembering her hands on him.

He had no idea her state of mind, but he hoped she wasn’t regretting it. He closed his eyes as he heard the bathroom door open, bracing himself for whatever was to come next.

He turned his head away from her as she slipped quietly into bed, this time under the covers. She’d left the bathroom light on and the door open a sliver. After she arranged the sheets and settled in, he stole a glance at her. She was resting her head on her pillow looking at him, a smile, thank god, playing at the corners of her mouth he still had never even kissed.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

“I was dozing,” he said. He wanted to play it cool, but he was dimly aware that he was grinning big like an idiot. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” she said. “Better.” Still smiling. He smelled her soap. Her minty breath.

She seemed to have changed into a tank top of some sort. No bra. Her pajama pants and underwear he’d pushed down to her knees and she’d kicked off at some earlier fevered moment were still balled at the foot of the bed. He wondered what she was wearing under the covers.

“Must have been the ibuprofen?” he offered.

“Yeah,” she said. “That stuff works wonders.” She bit her bottom lip and buried her smile in her pillow.

“Somebody’s a little shy…”

“Maybe,” she said. “Then again there is a strange man in my bed.”

“You have no idea just how strange…”

“I think maybe I have some idea.”

“Probably you do,” he conceded.

He knew he should offer to vacate her bed. The problem with that was, he didn’t at all want to.

A loud thud next door was followed briefly by raised voices. Then a hush.

“Must be tussling over the last of the dry goods,” Mulder said.

“How are you feeling? You know...” she said, flicking her eyes dramatically toward his crotch, “down there.”

“You making fun of me?”

“Just a little.”

“Much better than at the diner. But itchier than when I fell asleep.”

“Ah. I was afraid of that. I’m not sure our… activities worked out as well for you as they did for me.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. He’d humped the mattress so ardently as he got her off he’d be surprised if he didn’t have some residual damage.

“Should I take a look?”

“Why not?” he said.

She slipped out of bed and, to his astonishment — in the middle of the night in three seconds flat — she morphed effortlessly from sex kitten to General Practitioner.

She flicked on two lamps and dug out her trusty penlight and some gauze. She set them on his bedside table and he remembered to notice her attire: some snug white cotton shorts the same ribbed material as her tank top. Nice.

“Hey,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, getting with the program, getting up himself.

“Is the tube of cortisone cream in your room?”

“Yes it is.”

“Go get it. I’m gonna scrub up.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Mulder,” she said when he was at the door, “You know what? Wash your own hands really well. And bring your suitcase back too. With all your clothes.”

“Okay. But Scully? Isn’t it a little hasty for us to be shacking up? I mean, I thought we agreed this was a one time thing…”

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then they both cracked huge smiles.

“You’re a buffoon, Mulder.”

“I had you there. For a second. I know I did.”

“You wish. Hurry up while we still have lights. And air.”

“You can admit it, Scully. You can’t wait to get your hands on my junk again. You’re only human.” He slipped out the door as a roll of wrapped gauze whizzed by his head.

He returned as directed and opened his suitcase. She laid all his clothes out on the bed and separated the items washed in the suspect detergent from the rest.

“You shouldn’t even handle these,” she said, stuffing a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, and two pairs of boxers in a plastic bag.

“You’re sure none of this came out of the laundry bag?” she asked, gesturing to the rest of the clothes on the bed. “These boxers?” she said, holding up a plaid pair.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Those were in the drawer.”

“Good. Make sure you wear them tomorrow. It wouldn’t be ideal to go commando in jeans. Not in your condition. You should stick to looser pants for the next week, too. Once we get home.”

He couldn’t think of a smartass retort, so he just nodded.

“Not sure about those socks,” he said, pointing to one of the two pairs on the bed.

She tossed them in the plastic bag and tied it off.

He re-packed his suitcase as she went to wash her hands again.

When she came back out he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” she said, standing in front of him.

“Hi,” he said.

“You ready for round two?” All business.

“I guess so.”

“You still itchy?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s hard not to scratch.”

“Resist. That’s how you get a secondary infection. You don’t want that.”

“I believe you. I don’t even want this one.”

She turned toward him smiling, shaking her head.

“Hey Scully? I’m not sure I can rip this page from the book of my life. I’m not sure I want to.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Kissing or no kissing, I knew we were in trouble around the time I took my pants off.”

Sooner, she thought. As soon as he shuffled in with her favorite vending fixes. It was a clumsy odd Mulderish seduction. Her new favorite kind.

“You seem calm about it.”

“I am now. But I was freaking out in the bathroom earlier. When you were pretending to be asleep.”

“So what happened?”

She stepped closer to him and rubbed her knuckles lightly along his sternum.

“What always happens. I saw you. And I felt better.”

“Really?”

“Pretty much.”

He took her hand and kissed it, held it between his two hands.

“Maybe this was a mistake, Mulder. But let’s keep it in perspective. We’ve been in worse situations…”

“That’s a fact. An understatement, really.”

“I mean, for example, I’d rather be somewhat expertly... tended to by my handsome partner than gutshot by an overzealous rookie agent...”

“When you put it that way…”

“At least it was an experience worth the awkwardness that’s bound to ensue.”

“Expertly?”

Was he fishing for compliments, or actually insecure? She couldn’t tell.

“Somewhat. I thought so. Admittedly, I don’t get out much.”

“But you liked it?”

Wow. Insecure. And so really just so, oh God, very skilled. With his hands at least. The way he banged her hard with two fingers, his thumb glossing her clit.  She wondered if someone had convinced him otherwise. The thought bothered her.

“If that wasn’t clear to you, Mulder, we need to register immediately for one of those partner communication seminars. And actually attend it this time.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“Good,” she said.

“So tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. But like you said before, we’ll still be you and me. We’ll figure it out.”

“We will.”

She yawned

“You sleepy?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, yawning too.

“It’s interesting,” she said, “how yawns are contagious. I wonder what biological basis is, for that behavior.”

“For psychopaths, yawns aren’t contagious. The lack the requisite empathy. A researcher in England discovered that, then set up a screening test.”

”Good to know you’d pass. I’ve slept with my quota of psychopaths.”

“I agree. So you're planning to sleep with me?”

Oops. “I’m not planning anything.” She wasn’t planning to. But apparently the part of her that said things had other ideas.

“Huh.” His eyes were on her chest.

Why don’t you let me get a peek at that rash?” she whispered. “Then we can go back to bed.”

“Okay,” he said.

He lay back on his pillow and worked his pants down over his hips.

“Take those off,” she said, dragging the chair over to the bed. “You can sleep commando.”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Airflow, Mulder. Grab my penlight and some gauze on the bedside table. Dry yourself off really thoroughly.”

In a pique of shyness, he was tucking himself under the covers to follow instructions.

“You’d look cute with one of those headlamps doctors used to wear, Scully. Don’t you have a birthday coming up?’”

Yeah, she thought, and you look even cuter naked in my bed that I imagined you would. Which, while a good problem, is still a problem. She sat down and pulled her chair up to the edge of the bed.

“I do. In about ten months.”

“Oh,” he said. “I think I’d be more comfortable if we both took our clothes off, Scully.”

“May I?” she said, holding the sheet covering him by the edge.

He nodded.

She peeled it back. “Light please,” she said.

He shined the light down to his groin.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, running her fingers along his shaft. “Chafed. I can imagine how that happened. Sorry about that.”

“Really, it’s okay.”

“I was worried those bumps were going to blister. But they're almost gone. You took those boxers off in the nick of time.”

“Thanks to you. All kidding aside, you’re a good doctor, Scully.”

“Well you need a new one.”

“Why?”

“You have to keep it lubricated at all times for at least a week,” she said, handing him the tube. “Cortisone. Or Vaseline if you run out.”

“You want to do it?” he asked.

“You do it. I want to watch.”

“You want to watch? Scully!”

“Yeah. To make sure you’re using enough.”

He squeezed out a dollop of the thick white lotion into his palm.

“More,” she said. “Much more.”

“Okay, he said, adding more.

She took the tube from him then leaned back as he reached down and applied the medicine to his penis. He spent more time than strictly necessary smoothing it over the head with his fist, watching her face as he worked. He was getting hard in his hand and he didn’t seem shy about it.

She stood up and pulled her tank top up and off.

His jaw dropped.

She pulled the sheets back up over him, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed with him.

Under the covers she pressed her body to his.

“Mulder,” she said, “you need a new doctor because I’m experiencing a conflict of interest. As your Internist, I need to recommend that you refrain from sexual activity till this rash calms down. But as your…”

“FBI Partner with benefits?” he offered.

“Yes. As that, I need to recommend that you let me, ah, do this.” She grasped his shaft and rubbed his head languorously against her stomach.

They both moaned. She licked his nipple.

“Though I promise to be gentle. This time. You see the problem here?”

“No problem,” he said. “Oh, Scully. You’re fired.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

.


End file.
